


Fairytales

by buriedbarnes



Category: SPN, Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Destiel will be coming, M/M, SPN - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, only bro relationship with Bennett and Dean tho, yes destiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1126976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buriedbarnes/pseuds/buriedbarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bennett Spencer is sent to a mental facility where she meets an 82 year old Dean Winchester. At this point in his life, Dean has lost everything, but not in the way that you think. Everyone believes that Dean is the craziest person in the facility, and despite several warnings, Bennett continues to talk with the old man. Dean teaches her all about hunting, his brother, and some “angel” called Cas. At first, she believes everything Dean says is just some fairytale, but even fairytales have a little truth to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairytales

**Author's Note:**

> Destiel is a part of this story - just wait for it. It will come. Bennett and Dean have a bro relationship only. 
> 
> Please leave a comment letting me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

I have behavior issues. Well, at least that's what they told me and for the longest time I didn't believe them. I had a certain cynical attitude about doctors. All of their fancy degrees meant about as much to me as toilet paper. I was stubborn and all of their opinions about me were bullshit. They diagnosed me with several disorders, and then they through me into a facility for people like me. It felt like a death sentence and, for a lot of people, it was. At the time, I didn't realize how precarious my situation was and that the "death sentence" I had received was just what I needed. When bad things happen to you, you don't expect to come out on top of them. I don't think I could have come out on top of my own problems if it wasn't for my friends at Sunshine and Smiles Rehabilitation Center. Not the doctors, but the people.

  
I remember the day I checked in. The receptionist read the names of the new in-patients off the list with boredom leaking from her voice. She read like she was just trying to get the work done. She readjusted the glasses on her face while several staff members handed us a sack of clothes and a pair of loafers. "Change in the bathrooms down the hall. Bring back the clothes you are currently wearing when you're finished and I'll check them into our database. They shall be returned to you upon your release, should that day come," she looked at each one of us with a blank stare. "The security guards will escort you."

  
A big, black man with a bald head and a beer gut grabbed my arm and dragged me down the hall towards the bathrooms. The women and the men were split up into groups and sent into the corresponding bathrooms. Once I had entered a stall, I changed into the white, long sleeve shirt and the grey, sweat pants that I had been given. I picked up the loafers from the ground where I had set them and examined them. I had worn my favorite pair of shoes that day. They were black converse and there was no way in hell that I was going to change out of them. I pushed the sleeves of my shirt up to my elbows and exited the bathroom carrying the sack of my old clothes in one hand and the loafers in the other. When I made it back to the cranky receptionist, I dropped them on the counter in front of her. "I regret to inform you that you have to change your shoes," she said as she bent her body over the counter and stared down at my converse. She picked up the loafers and shoved them against my chest. "Put these on." I slammed in the shoes back on to the counter, "I regret to inform that that will not be happening." I saw the anger register in her eyes and awaited her reply. "Ma'am, those shoes are not regulation. I have to ask you to change them," she said through her teeth. I stubbornly held my ground. "I am not changing them."

  
She held hers, too. "You don't have a choice. They're not regulation." I took a step closer to her and leaned in so my face was closer to hers. "Well, I'm pretty sure that attitude isn't regulation, either, yet no one is making a fuss about that. Bitch, the sign on the door says 'Sunshine and Smiles' and so far I have received neither of those." Her mouth snapped shut and she clenched her jaw; I thought I had gotten my point across. She looked directly into my eyes and said, "Assistance will be provided if needed." I laughed and held her stare with my own, "Well, it looks like assistance will be needed."

  
X X X X

The receptionist may have given me a few bruises and a pretty nice shiner that day, but I walked into that common room that day my converse had never left my feet. I still remember all of the faces of the people that I saw in that room. There were several men and women playing chess or ping-pong. There was a group of people staring blankly at a TV in a corner. Its screen hummed quietly with static. Besides being totally out of it, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Well, almost everyone. There was this one old man sitting alone in the back of the room. He stared out of the window next to him looking as miserable as a person could get. Loneliness racked at his bones. A plaid shirt hung over his white t-shirt and lean frame, and I was happy to see that I wasn't the only one who had fought that stupid "regulation" rule. His short, grey hair matched the wrinkles and lines on his face that had built up over the years.

  
I remember thinking that he looked like he had been through hell. The way he sat in his wheelchair made him look like he had given. He had suddenly turned his head towards me as if he had known the whole time that I had been standing there watching him and making my assumptions. His piercing green eyes felt separate from his body. Life and heart jumped across them. I could see the war that raged on in his soul through them. They opposed his surrendering form, and I could've sworn he winked at me. He was intriguing and alluring and odd. I was both uncomfortable and interested. I felt myself moving closer to him and all the stories he had to tell, but I suddenly noticed the weight of the piece of paper in my hand. Written on it was a room number and directions to find it. I made up my mind to go to my new room and meet my roommate, then I would come back and talk to this strange man.

  
As I was leaving the room, I noticed a woman watching me. Her long black hair surrounded her face in messy curls that longed to have a brush run through them. She had a ghostly frame, accompanied by pale skin. Her fingers tapped rhythmically against her hand. Her dark eyes followed me eerily. Even as I exited the room I could feel them staying with me.

  
I followed the directions on my piece of paper through a maze of hallways and rooms. The white walls and mint tiles made me light headed. When I had finally found the room, I saw a box full of regulation clothes and items sitting on my bed. I assumed the staff meant for me to use them to change my clothes and such every day. A woman, who had been sitting on the bed across from mine, thrust her hand towards me and introduced herself as Vera. "That side of the room is yours, and this side is mine. Keep your side clean, and we'll have no problem," she said. I agreed and unpacked the items from the box on my bed.

  
As soon as I was finished, I let Vera show me around the facility. Vera took her time and stopped to have conversation with every person we met along the way - young and old. I'll never forget the way she carried herself down those hallways. She walked with the same ease of someone strolling through the neighborhood. Every smile she through a person's way seemed so genuine. However, her eyes enjoyed to lie. At that time, I couldn't tell why or what, but her smiles were masking something that her eyes could not.  
When we were back in the common room, she sat me down at a table. Pointing to several people in the room, she told me their stories. I realized very quickly that this was how she spent her days - learning and caring. Old Joe was the first person she told me about. He had been a heavy drinker before being checking himself in. For him, it was either a life in regulation loafers or a life in an orange jumper. His choice hadn't been that hard to make. Joe had worked in a big office building in the center of town. After a lifetime of being belittled by his coworkers, he snapped. One morning he pumped every one of the assholes he worked with full of lead. Now, Old Joe was the kind of man who took care of problems.

  
Next, Vera told me about Lacey, who claimed she could see people from the past. For example, she regularly had conversations with Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley. Vera also told me about Lacey's sister, Maria. Apparently, Maria has multiple personalities, all of which, are serial rapists. She had to be locked into her room at night to prevent, well, I think we all know why. Vera blamed Maria's problems on all of the meth that she used to do. I wasn't sure what the logic behind that was, but I didn't question it. As our conversation continued, I noticed the old man from before was no longer in the room. I found myself wondering if he looked just as forsaken when he was alone. I didn't even know why I cared at that point and still to this day, I wonder if he had this effect on anyone else. The longer Vera talked to me, the more I could tell that there was something unusual about her. She was oddly desolate, but other than that she seemed perfectly alright. It made me wonder what she had done to be put in here with the rest of us. There was just something off about her.

  
X X X X

  
Later that night, I laid in bed and stared up at the ceiling through the darkness. I had gone back to the common room several times throughout the day to check in see if the old man had gone back to his place by the window. I wanted every piece of wisdom he had to spare, which I guessed wasn't much. After all, he was in a mental facility. I hoped he wasn't as much of a lost cause as he looked. His essence haunted me almost as much the woman from before. I hadn’t forgotten the way her eyes widened insanely when she saw me, almost like she knew my face. I dismissed the thought quickly and listened as my stomach grumbled from underneath the blankets. It was hours after curfew, and we were all supposed to be sleeping. The security guards and staff had finished their nightly rounds hours ago, and I decided I could risk slipping into the kitchen for a quick snack. I looked over at Vera, who appeared to be sleeping, and quietly moved out of the room.

  
I did my best to find the kitchen, but it took almost an hour because without Vera, I got lost in all the hallways. However, when I did find it, I noticed that it had a rather large fridge which I was happy to see. I opened it and removed several items in order to make a sandwich. I felt very odd, almost like I was being watched. I remember thinking of why anyone would want to watch me making a sandwich. I imagined the feeling of being watched went with mental facility territory, but apparently, it comes with the territory of actually being watched. As I placed the items back in the fridge, I heard footsteps behind. Before I knew it, the girl who had been watching me in the common room slammed me up against the fridge. Her eyes were spread wide with anger and she screamed in my face, "WHERE IS HE? WHERE IS MY TIMOTHY?" I felt fear rise in my chest as I noticed the long knife in her hand. Its blade gleaming in the kitchen light. “ANSWER ME!” She screamed and raised the knife high up into the air. I felt her other hand tighten around my neck pressing me harder against the fridge. “W-what?” I stuttered out. “Who’s Timothy?” “Don’t play stupid with me,” her hot breath hit my face as her words spilled from her lips, “I know you took him! I know what you did to him!”

  
Her voice cracked on her last words and tears streamed down her face. I gently closed my fingers around her wrist and tried to pry her hand from my neck. “Look, I’m sorry, but I swear-” An animalistic roar ripped through her throat and she swung the knife down towards my chest. I thrust my arm out and caught her wrist, but the knife sliced through my arm. Blood poured from the gash and shoved her away from me. She slammed into the table behind her knocking the knife out of her hand. I turned and noticed a young man standing in the doorway. “Help!” I waved my arms at him, “She’s trying to kill me; go get someone!” The next thing I knew my face was hitting cold tile. A sharp pain ran down my spine as I tried to lift myself up off the ground. The woman dropped a steel bowl on the ground next to me and threw her entire weight onto my body pinning my arms under her. She pressed my head into the ground and held me there. I managed to get an arm free and blindly swung a closed fist back at her. I felt it connect with the side of her jaw. The blow stunned her and allowed me to flip over under her. I landed a few more blows to her stomach and rolled her off of me.

  
I looked out through the doors and noticed a crowd of people watching me. Their faces held shocked expressions. “Would somebody please help me?” I called, but no one moved. The woman on the ground started to get up again just as the crowd of people parted down the middle. Finally, someone was coming to my rescue. Four large man bounded through the crowd. I immediately recognized them as members of the staff. “Oh, thank you. Thank God,” I said relieved, “She- she attacked me. I didn’t know what to-” Two of the guards grabbed my arms and held them painfully tight. They whispered about taking me to confinement and jerked me away.

  
I struggled against their grip. Why was I being punished? “Wait! Hey, wait a second!” Kicking and screaming, I tried to wiggle my way out of their hands. “She attacked me! She attacked me!” They only tightened their grips and dragged me out through the crowd. Through my fit, I noticed an old man sitting in a wheelchair in the front of the crowd and my eyes connected with the same green eyes from earlier that day. His body was stiff, but his freckled face held an approving smirk. He looked almost impressed, and I couldn’t help but take a little pride in that look.

  
X X X X

  
I had been kept in confinement for three days because of that little fight. After the second day, the walls of my cell became too white, and the lights too bright. I spent the third day huddled in corner, clutching the white gauze on my arm. The gash throbbed and the stitches itched. I scraped my nails across the wall just to keep from scratching at it and I waited for them to let me out of this cage. I remember the pissed expression on Vera’s face when I finally came back to our room. She hissed under her breath when she saw me and buried her face in a book just so she wouldn’t have to speak to me.

  
After receiving the cold shoulder from her for a few good hours, I decided to take a visit to the common room. Conditions weren’t any better there. Most of the room stopped their activities to stare at me. Their eyes threw daggers at me that felt almost as real as the cut on my arm. The rest of the people in the room ignored my presence. I don’t know if they even noticed me, to be honest. If they were like everyone else, then they probably didn’t want to notice me. I was affected by it more than I’d like to admit. I did feel a little bit of warmth in that room that day, though. The old man in the back of the room looked up at me. His solemn face showed no sign of discontent with me. He had been the first one. I several long strides over to him and plopped down in a chair across from. His poker face broke and his lips quirked up in a small side smile. “Come here often?” He said in a low playful voice. “Haven’t seen much of you, but I’d like to.” A fire jumped in his eyes. His body creaked slowly, almost painfully, but his moved with the excitement of a man years younger than he. “Who are you?” I asked quietly. His sly smile disappeared and his jaw tightened. “Dean Winchester. It used to be an identity – a reputation, but now it’s just a name.” His lips pursed waiting for my reply. “You really don’t expect to get off without telling me who you are, sweetheart.” Sweetheart? “Bennett Spencer,” I huffed. “Still an identity, I hope.”

  
“I hope so, too,” Dean said, his smile reappearing. I laughed and studied the freckles that peppered the wrinkles on his face. “So what are you in for, sweetheart?” I spat the word back at him and continued on, “Old coot like you, must have a lot of interesting stories.” Dean chuckled at my use of his word and ran his fingers through his hair, “Well, that’s just it. I guess, some of my stories just got a little too interesting.” I gritted my teeth, “You’re a very vague and confusing man.” He laughed and winked at me playfully. “It’s gonna take more than a few minutes to figure me out.” I stayed quiet and after a few seconds he continued. “What? Did you think you were really gonna get in my pants that easily?” I clenched my jaw repeatedly. Our annoying banter reminded me of what life used to be like before the speculating and diagnosing began. I really did enjoy it. “You seem like the type who likes to be difficult.” He clapped his hands together in front him, the sound drawing in a few cross looks. “You bet,” Dean smile spread wider. His wrinkles read like maps across his face. Maps that led to the stars in his eyes.

  
“What landed you in here, Bennett? Young and beautiful girl like you, probably got a lot to live for, so you’re not the depressive type,” Dean coughed out. “It must be totally crazy then, whatever you did.” “I didn’t do anything,” I said. “And I’m not crazy.” “Hm, really?” He replied, “Sounds like something someone crazy would say.” “Not crazy,” I repeated, feeling my cheeks get hot. “What about that fight? Huh, Bennett? That was pretty…crazy.” Dean said through a smirk. My temper rose and he laughed in the face of anger like it was nothing. “Really, though. That was impressive what you did out there – holding your own. You remind me of a girl that I knew back in my day. Her name was-” Dean’s voice fell and the fire disappeared from his eyes.

  
The fire was replaced with fear and his hand trembled slightly. “Her name. I’ll remember it someday and when I do I’m gonna tell you about her.” He looked up and out the window next to us. I followed his gaze to some birds that flying back and forth from tree to tree just a few feet away. We stayed like that for some time, neither of us saying a word, just letting time pass us by. I felt a sadness for Dean. He had looked so excited to tell me about the girl he had known. How horrible it must be to forget the people that you once loved so much. I was debating going back to my room when he finally broke the silence. “You’re not crazy, are you, Bennett?” For the first time, I stopped and debated the question. I thought about what the word crazy meant and I thought about the fact that could actually be crazy. How could such a small question carry such a heavy weight? “I’m not crazy. I’m just the last slice of bread left in the bag – the end-piece that nobody wanted. That’s why I’m here.”

  
Dean chuckled and slumped back in his wheelchair. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I like the end-pieces.”

**Author's Note:**

> Destiel is a part of this story - just wait for it. It will come. Bennett and Dean have a bro relationship only.
> 
> Please leave a comment letting me know what you think! Thanks for reading!


End file.
